


breathe softly, like a human being

by iridescentphantasmagoria



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kaladin talks about his feelings, M/M, Wingfic, so slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentphantasmagoria/pseuds/iridescentphantasmagoria
Summary: Kaladin is uneasy around them, and Adolin has been wondering how to change that - he usually gets along with people he does not purposely antagonize, but surely, Kaladin understands he’s only teasing.“Hello, bridgeboy.”, he smiles in response. Kaladin glares back, probably thinking of a cutting response. Shallan pinches him where no one can see, because they’ve talked about being nice to Kaladin, and intervenes.Kaladin has an issue with his wings. Adolin listens.





	breathe softly, like a human being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freoduweard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freoduweard/gifts).



> The prompt I picked was for wingfic and Kaladin taking comfort in Adolins little touches.  
> A big thank you to the kind @within_a_dream for their amazing beta, especially on such a short notice!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this - I had a lot of fun writing it!

“Ah, there he is!” was an ambivalent thing to be referred to in public, in Adolin’s opinion. Too often, it had meant someone wanted to talk about why he was or wasn’t courting and/or had stopped courting someone. Some of those times, it had resulted in sudden challenges to a duel, which had instilled a fight-or-flight response he had not yet shaken. 

Adolin was about to part ways with Shallan, whom he had accompanied on a drawing trip. They now turn towards the voice and are faced with Kaladin - who is frowning more than usual - and a few members of Bridge Four, seemingly in a better mood than Kaladin. They stand arranged in a half-circle behind him, carefully leaving obvious space between them and their leader where Kaladin’s currently dismissed wings would be. Kaladin is looking at Rock, who had called out to them, before he turns and faces Adolin and Shallan. 

“Shallan, Adolin.” He greets them curtly. Kaladin is uneasy around them, and Adolin has been wondering how to change that - he usually gets along with people he does not purposely antagonize, but surely, Kaladin understands he’s only teasing. 

“Hello, bridgeboy,” he responds, smiling. Kaladin glares back, probably thinking of a cutting response. Shallan pinches him where no one can see, because they’ve talked about being nice to Kaladin, and intervenes.

“Nice to see you! How can we help?”

“We were just talking about Adolin,” the bridgeman admits. “The ardents are unable to help me.” The other bridgemen are trying not to laugh, so there’s a story behind this. Kaladin just rolls his eyes and carries on. “But Zahel mentioned that he might be able to.”

“Me? How could I...?” Adolin trails off, because there is only one thing he can help Kaladin with (at least, only one thing that he would accept): his wings. Adolin is one of, if not the, best sword- and wingfighter, even if his pale-boned, dead Shardwings don’t compare to Kaladin’s. He, like any good fighter, knows how to take care of his weapons, and this would not be the first time he’d helped someone with their wings. It’s customary among wingwearers, although he assumes none of them had helped Kaladin so far. Additionally to the obvious lighteyes/darkeyes-animosity from both sides, his wings are very much not dead and certainly not the same as theirs, only ...similar. Adolin though...he feels glad there’s something  _ he _ can help the other man with, a chance at friendship, maybe.

Adolin reads the tension in Kaladin’s shoulders different now, less anger and more physical ache. The stiff way he’s holding himself takes on a different meaning, reminiscent of days of too much training or hard battle.

When Adolin meets Kaladin’s gaze, there is something defiant in it, as if Kaladin is daring him to say something about asking  _ him _ for help. Adolin sighs internally. He is a storming  _ nice _ person, why doesn’t Kaladin see that? He’ll have to keep trying.

“Your wings, I guess?” he asks. “If you’ve been keeping them dismissed, it’s probably urgent.”

Kaladin nods and then scowls at Rock, who has raised his eyebrow at him, very directly communicating an ‘I-told-you-so’. Adolin smiles to himself, watching them, until Shallan laughs and takes her leave. This prompts everyone into motion: Adolin wants to take Kaladin towards the training rooms, where they’ll have the space to spread his wings out; Kaladin declines that idea with a ‘too busy right now’ and instead suggests taking the two of them to one of Urithiru’s higher balcons, where they’ll be undisturbed. Which makes Adolin slightly suspicious. He could have Kaladin completely wrong, and maybe he’ll get killed far away from everyone else-but that is a stupid thought. He grabs his wing-kit from his room and up they go, leaving the former bridgemen behind. 

The plateau Kaladin drops them onto is higher than any Adolin has ever been to, but he’s too distracted to realize. Due to his Shardwings, Lashing Adolin would be difficult for Kaladin, and so he’d decided to just hold onto Adolin while Lashing himself. Hanging onto someone who appears to be falling into the open sky is a breathtaking experience, especially if that someone is Kaladin. 

Trying to spare his back from more strain, Adolin had held onto Kaladin’s midriff. This has the disadvantages of a) making him feel  _ ridiculous _ and b) missing the look Kaladin gets on his face whenever he is flying, but at least he has to cling to him pretty closely. Still, Kaladin’s face is slightly flushed when they’re disentangling themselves.  _ Maybe his back is worse than I’ve thought _ , Adolin worries. 

“I assume you overextend yourself?” he asks, opening his kit and sorting through bandages and oils and bone-tonics he won’t need here. Kaladin is always doing so _ much _ without ever stopping for rest (which is admirable, but stupid), so it’s the most logical assumption. Adolin stops his motions when he looks up. Kaladin is ...undressing? 

“What?” Kaladin deadpans at Adolins confused look. “Everyone keeps telling my I’m no expert at these things growing literally from my own body, so it’s probably best if you look for yourself.”

“Well, you’re- Kaladin, you literally still do wingless Kata instead of the winged ones! You sleep in a normal sized bed!”

“Do you have a problem-” 

“No! I don’t mind...” Adolin blushes and gets up. “But you should take better care of yourself.”

Kaladin has taken his coat and shirt off, skin bare to the light of the setting sun. Adolin blinks against the glare, eyes roaming, and for some reason his face grows warm.

“Could you summon your wings? I’d hate to accidentally step into them…” Adolin has seen Kaladin’s twitches when someone passed through a literal - if not-there - part of him. 

Kaladin breathes stormlight, eyes and skin glowing radiant. The glow concentrates between his shoulder blades before cascading from his back, forming arches of feathers dripping with light. Kaladin’s Shardwings are one of the most amazing things Adolin has ever seen. People like to compare live wings to chicken because both have feathers, but that is where the similarities stop. Shardwings are huge, even dead ones, but Kaladin’s are even big enough to let him navigate efficiently in the air while Lashed. And while dead Shardwings are a thing of terror and nightmares with their indestructible bones and the abysmal shadows always crawling in-between, live ones are covered in soft-looking feathers, able to turn razor-sharp and deadly in battle. Adolin is sure about the battle part, having seen the clean slices the feathers left, but he has not dared to touch them in either case. Something that seems attuned to the feelings of their wearer - completely unlike Adolin’s wings - is not something he can touch out of curiosity. 

Right now, Kaladin’s wings are their usual stormy grey, looking thoroughly ruffled and otherworldly. He’s holding them from his body in an unnatural, tense line. 

Shaken from his admira- observations when he notices Kaladin’s questioning look, Adolin blurts out “If that’s how you hold them normally, no wonder your back’s a mess!”, which is not what he’d wanted to say. His mouth keeps going without him. “I mean, they look pretty.” There’s a pause. “Pretty uncomfortable…”

“It’s the least painful way right now,” Kaladin grumbles. He appears to be blushing slightly, which means Adolin was successful.

“Any idea why you can’t heal your back with stormlight?” Adolin moves behind Kaladin. 

“It might be like my scar.” 

“You don’t know why your scar won’t heal.”

“Exactly.” 

Adolin smiles. “Is it okay if I touch your back now?”

Kaladin hesitates for a moment. “Go on.”

Kaladin’s skin is warm with stormlight when Adolin feels his back for knots and hurts. He’s done this often, gained a certain level of skill, a reputation for being good with his fingers. Fresh wingwearers, unused to the extra appendages, tend to mess their backs up in those first few months of wearing Shardwings. Even those with more experienced need assistance sometimes, especially after prolonged battle. It is easier with someone who understands, who knows: showing the terrible mess of wounds and scars wings tend to leave on their wearer requires a certain amount of trust, and the various hurts and difficulties are hard to explain. 

Kaladin is different, Adolin knows this. He carries his wings naturally, a grown part of him instead something inserted under great pain. Also...he should have the stormlight-powered healing thing. 

“What did you do? Carry your whole crew on your back?”

“I would if I had to.” Kaladin’s wings curl around himself slightly and he flinches, wings quivering. 

“Not with your back like that,” Adolin states, rolling his eyes. “I can massage you, which should help. It won’t stop it from getting bad again though, so we’ll have to do something about that as well.” Kaladin sighs, then nods. 

“You’ll have to sit down, though,” Adolin tells him, rummaging through his wing kit for some massage oil. “You’re simply too tall.”

Kaladin snorts but sits down on a rocky outcropping that might have been a seat once. “Or maybe you should try growing a bit more.”

Adolin smiles, warming the oil in his hands. “I invite you to keep talking like that while you’re at the mercy of my hands.”

He starts out with careful, broad strokes across Kaladin’s back, warming up the muscles before working on the knots. It’s relaxing, and he gets lost in the repetitive movements, Kaladin’s warm skin, and his soft noises when Adolin works on a particularly bad spot. He makes sure not to touch too close to Kaladin’s wings, which have started to lower slightly. Suddenly, Adolin is glad his wings do not react to his feelings. It would probably be embarrassing. 

“During training some days ago, we saw smoke on the horizon.” Kaladin says eventually, voice distant as if he’s back out on the plains. “We flew there as quickly as we could - I couldn’t take many, since we had a new batch of recruits and I can’t leave them unprotected. We were too late, anyway. I should have known, since there was so much smoke even before- but even on the chance that we might…” He stops for a moment, wings twitching, shaking, and Adolin starts moving his hands in wide, calming circles. 

“One person was alive when we arrived. We could hear her screaming. A woman, halfway crushed under the wagon, with her dead family in front of her. They tried to protect her when she couldn’t move, and all she could do was watch them die. I wonder…” Kaladin’s voice was a broken whisper. “I wonder, if I had looked up a moment earlier, would we have been fast enough to save them? If I was in the sky always, could I have prevented this?”

Kaladin is stiff, tense, but his wings quiver like there’s a highstorm coming. Adolin has heard this part of the story but only in the clinic tones of military men uninvolved, and he dreads what he knows to happen next. His shaken brother has told him the part with the winged man crashing from the sky, dripping blood.

“I took her, I took her into my arms. She was beyond anything I can do… Renarin, we had left him behind. So I flew. She was still there, she was talking to me, and we landed and she wasn’t. Too late. The second time I failed that day. The second - the  _ last _ time I failed her. ”

“Oh, Kaladin…” Adolin whispers. He’s lost, heart aching in sympathy, hands covered in oil. Kaladin sits in front of him, still and barely breathing, lost in a far worse way. And while Adolin is  _ nice _ and  _ friendly _ , he’s no one’s close friend, and the only person he’s ever truly comforted is his brother. 

Adolin moves around Kaladin carefully, trying to think of a way to help, to take some of the hurt away. Kaladin’s eyes are squeezed shut, lips trembling.

“I’m going to hug you now.”

Kaladin is stiff in his arms, breathing forced, like it pains him. For a moment, it’s all to reminiscent of holding Renarin when his father, again, had not been able to. 

“When was the last time you got to breathe normally?”, Adolin wonders as Kaladin shakes against him, breaking from his stiffness. “You don’t have to- I did not mean it as a question.” He should know Kaladin carried these deaths with him, as he carried every death he has been unable to prevent. As if they are his personal responsibility. 

“You can-” Adolin starts, whispering with his chin on Kaladins shoulder, trying to hold on to him, trying to make a safe nest with his arms. Kaladin hugs him back like a falling man might grip a ledge, desperate to save himself from the endless nothing below. “You can breathe here, okay? And you can cry. I’ll be here. It’s okay. It’s just us.” 

Adolin stays with Kaladin while his shaking gets worse, when he starts to cry earnestly, wings drooping powerless, and he’s still holding him when the sky is dark and Kaladin calms. 

“Can you breathe with me?”

Kaladin shudders, but he inhales along Adolin, and he exhales with him. They repeat this until Adolin trusts himself to speak again. 

“Tell me if you want me to let go.”

“No,” Kaladin sighs, voice wet, which is good enough for Adolin.

“Okay. I’m here for you.” Then,  after a pause, “There are many people here for you, if you need the reminder. I saw the bridgemen worrying about you, earlier.”

“They’re not- I’m not- I should have-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You, as a single hum- mostly human person, cannot save all of Roshar on your own.” Some of the fight, the distress that has come back into Kaladin’s body leaves again. “We do not expect you too, either, you know?”

They stay there, in each other's arms, until Adolins voice goes hoarse from whispering reassurances in Kaladin’s ear, until Kaladin’s tears dry and breathing quiets. Until he takes a slow, deep breath and murmurs, “Thank you.”

 

\--

 

Adolin organizes them solitary use of one of the training rooms a couple off days later; he both wants to teach Kaladin the winged Kata and check up on him. 

They’d stretched and warmed up with simple Kata, motions so ingrained they’re almost meditative. When they’re finished, Adolin does not not want to disturb the calm that has settled over them and simply motions for Kaladin to take off his shirt. He had come in with a storm in his eyes, but the clouds have receded with time, and Adolin is feeling far too happy about being able to help. He’s probably smiling like an idiot - Kaladin looks at him like he’s trying to figure something out, but then closes his eyes and summons his wings. And Adolin  _ tries _ not to stare, but it’s one of those moments where Kaladin actually looks at peace, filled with light and focused, wings straight before they droop down as usual. 

His back is not as good as Adolin thought it’d be, worse than it should be after the treatment. Adolin feels a stab of hope because this means he’ll get to continue this for longer, and then he feels guilty because he just as desperately wants Kaladin to feel good as he wants to spend time with him. Distracted, he moves curious fingers along Kaladin’s spine, feeling knots he thought he’d taken care of, and his touch grows lighter as closer he gets to Kaladin’s wings, to where soft skin becomes dangerously soft feathers, because he can’t- 

Kaladin flinch-shivers and Adolin jerks his fingers away from where they nearly came too close. His face grows warm. 

“Let’s start with the winged Kata. I can give you another massage when we’re finished, if you’d like it?” Adolins voice is steady, no sign of the trembling that shows in his hands. 

Kaladin’s eyes search his face, and Adolin can’t look away, so he smiles instead.

“...Okay,” Kaladin replies. 

Winged Kata are basically extensions of normal Kata, focussing on back strength and wing movement, something many lighteyes - hoping to someday wear wings - learn, but no one ever thought of teaching to Kaladin. The movements are similar, and Kaladin takes to the changes with natural grace. Adolin - who has been watching closely - still notices something ...off about the way Kaladin is moving, something that looks different. There’s a strain to some stretches and steps that does not seem to be rooted in the mess of Kaladin’s back. Adolin ends up taking his own shirt off, fumbling with the ties below his wings, to show Kaladin exactly how the Kata works. He’s good at this, proud of his precises movements, the complete control he exercises through each and every step. Even though his wings have no reflexes, moving them has become as close to breathing as it can. 

He watches Kaladin repeat the Kata, and has to try not to get distracted by his face flushed with exercise. It looks - weird, even though Kaladin’s execution of the movements is amazingly good for the few hours they’ve been practicing. He flows through the movements like wings through the chasms, wild and strong but forced to sudden turns, contained. His wings twitch one way before Kaladin directs them another, the way Adolin showed him, the way it’s been taught for hundreds of years. It’s much more beautiful than any technically 

perfect Kata Adolin has seen. Kaladin meets his eyes the last turn and stops, panting. Adolin realizes he’s been distracted again. 

“So, the first time you feint a kick and then throw your wing.” He catches himself and moves through the part he’s talking about, turning, feinting and then turning the other way, throwing out his wing to catch an invisible opponent who’d have ducked away in anticipation of his kick. He feels Kaladin’s eyes burning on him and sees him nodding along. Adolin is glad he does not need to think about these movements. “You’ve been doing just this, but it looks - wrong. You’re really, really good and...” what is he saying? What was his point? 

“I’ve watched you, before. When you were practicing.” Kaladin saves him from messing up any more by messing Adolin up himself. There’s a pause because Adolin has lost his words and is smiling instead. 

“It does feel unnatural,” Kaladin continues. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No, actually… it feels better. It feels like I’m finally using my whole body during the Kata.” There’s relief on Kaladin’s face, wings relaxing with his words, and Adolin’s heart beats a bit faster, but his wings stay still, and there’s a thought forming as Kaladin continues: “but every movement comes unexpected, not fluid. I probably need more practice…” He trails off, probably because Adolin’s idea is showing on his face. 

“You know how I have to mostly consciously move my wings or they will not move at all? Yours react like reflexes. I think these Kata have evolved to fit people like me, with our dead wings, and work against your natural movement. I think- ” he’s running through the movements in his head, thoughts moving faster than he can follow, “the Kata used to be made for Knights Radiant, but they’ve changed. I can work out how they used to be.” He’s sure of it, and there’s something in Kaladin’s eyes that makes him even surer. 

“That would be kind of you.” Kaladin’s voice is soft.

“We can do it while practicing - that’s probably the best way.” 

 

\--

They’ve been practicing together for some weeks now, and it has become both the best and the worst thing happening to Adolin because one day Kaladin is going to notice why Adolin can’t look away and then he’ll stop his half-smiles, his snorts at Adolin’s terrible jokes, all the small ways he’s been opening up. 

Kaladin has been getting better, both his back and with the Kata they’ve been modifying. They’re incredibly difficult for Adolin because his wings just do not work that way, but he’s glad for the challenge. Glad to work this out alongside Kaladin. 

There are small changes in the other man, but Adolin has been watching him enough to notice. His wings seem...more tidy on his good days, when he’s rested and his men (and women, now) are fine, and his back gets better on those days as well. Some days, it’s still bad, but the overall trend goes towards  _ healing _ . 

There is another thing, but Adolin hesitates to think about it because it’s too good, he’s probably imagining it. The thoughts creep up on him when he’s just woken up but is not yet awake, or when he’s worked himself to exhaustion during training, or when there’s another boring meeting and his eyes stray to Kaladin again. He can still control it, then.

Adolin has always been a tactile person, but he used to be careful around Kaladin, afraid of touching too much until he sees Kaladin lose his frown during their time together (and Adolin loses his mind). Until he touches Kaladin’s shoulder to get his attention and sees him relax because its  _ Adolin _ , and his brain freezes (at least his mouth keeps working, it’s amazing). He’s been unable to stop since then, putting a hand on Kaladin’s shoulder to clear the storm from his face during a meeting, or calming him with a touch to his back when some brightlord reduces his men from friends to numbers - although in that case, it might have been more to distract Adolin from doing something impulsive. He can’t stop his little touches and he can’t stop his thoughts, his what ifs, his longing for closeness. They’re closer than ever, spending more and more time together, and it still feels farther every day, because one day it’ll stop.

Worst of all, there’s the thing that keeps Adolin up at night: Kaladin has started to trust him, regularly talks about his worries when Adolin massages him after their training. Often, it’s not much, but Adolin treasures every word and then lies awake at night, pressing cool fingers to his overheated face, wondering how to go on. In the dark, Adolin is afraid. 

 

\-- 

 

It’s night, the middle of it, but someone is knocking on the entrance of Adolin’s room. He rolls out of his bed feeling like he just fell asleep, trying to shake bone-deep tiredness. These hesitant knocks can’t be the heralds of some grave danger, so Adolin is left to wonder who’d possibly need him at this hour of the night while he tries to make sense of his limbs. He should be able to wake up faster, but their prolonged stay in Urithiru has lulled him in, made him feel safe. Adolin stumbles from his bed and pulls away what constitutes as his door; a tall figure stands behind it, towered over by two deeply dark shadows. As his heart stumbles, Adolin finally remembers his voice. It’s rough with sleep. 

“Kaladin?” 

He moves aside to let the other man enter his room, wings dragging behind him in the most fight-or-flight display Adolin has seen. 

“I had- and now I can’t-” Kaladin’s words are a mess as he fiddles with something small clenched in his hand. “I’m  _ sorry _ . Syl said you can help me, but I didn’t think about the time - I woke up and there was- he wasn’t-” 

“You’ve had a nightmare?” Adolin’s heart clenches in sympathy with the pain in Kaladin’s voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kaladin flinches in response. “No,  _ please _ ,” he whispers. 

“You don’t have to! Sometimes it helps, but you don’t have to.”   
“I can’t dismiss them.” Kaladin motions at his wings. “I nearly trashed the barracks. I thought - I thought I could save Tien.” He presses the hand clenching the object to his heart. “But…” There’s something terrible on his face, worse than tears: hope that was resurrected just to be crushed again, consumed by dream and reality, because it was never even possible. 

Adolin sits back on his bed because there’s only one logical thing to do. “Come on.” Kaladin does not react. “This bed is big enough. I’ll take care of you.” The words feel like a fever-dream, but he means them with all his being. If this is what he can do to help, he’ll do it, even if it’ll crush him, another line crossed. Kaladin crawls into his bed hesitantly, sighing when he lays down facing Adolin, who tangles their limbs. 

It takes a while, but he feels Kaladin relax with time, and finally, his breathing evens out. Adolin watches his face, their points of contact burning, and wonders how he’s supposed to keep going after this.

 

\--

 

When he wakes up, Kaladin is looking at him intently. They’re still facing each other, and Adolin must have moved closer in his sleep because Kaladin is  _ right there.  _ His face looks odd and then Adolin realizes Kaladin’s frown is gone. Maybe he’s still dreaming. 

“Adolin…” Kaladin says, drawn out, and Adolin dies a little inside. He can’t move away, can’t look away, as Kaladin closes the distance between them and kisses him softly. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm pretty new to writing fanfic, I'd love to hear what you think!


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